The Alpha’s Human Surrogate

Chapter 1 - Four Years Later

Erin’s POV

A small beam of light dances across my eyelids and I begin to stir. When I wake up, I shiver. My bed is cold. Hell, the entire house will be cold. Another joy of living within the wolf land, we have no heating or electricity. The fire must have died out hours ago, for the embers are black and cold. I stretch out and look across to Caitlin’s bed - it’s empty. She’s young enough to not care about sharing a bed with our Mother and Father. She appreciates the warmth and the added comfort of mummy and daddy hugs. I prop myself up on my elbow and grimace against the cold as my duvet slides from my shoulder. There’s enough light penetrating the moth eaten curtains to enable me to see them. My dear little Cait, curled up on her side, cocooned against my Mother’s body, their foreheads are pressed together, Cait’s arm draped lazily over my Mother’s abdomen as my Mother’s arms wrap tightly around her. Even in their sleep, I can tell they are troubled. My Father is perched awkwardly at the edge of the bed.

Of course they are troubled. This is the first time our family will have participated in ‘The Hunt’.

I toss the duvet aside and swing my legs off the bed, before I can change my mind. I slip my feet into my boots, grab my clothes from the bedside table and sneak from the room, careful not to wake them. I need to run, my mind is racing with all the possibilities of tonight and if I don’t calm it, I’ll fall apart. I need to be strong for my Mother and Cait. My Father will be a rock as always, he’s not at fragile. Once safely in the kitchen, I pull on my cargo pants, a shirt that is far too large and a jacket. I quickly braid my hair and circle it into a bun. I’m ready.

Our part of the wolf land is nicknamed the meadow, in account of the endless meadows that surround us. Usually the meadows are crawling with farmers and land workers at this hour. Both men and women with stooped postures, swollen limbs and broken skin, most of whom stopped trying to scrub the dirt out of their broken nails and skin many months ago, probably the last time they attended the Hunt. Today, the streets, fields and meadows are empty.

Many houses have their curtains and shutters closed. Today people are to prepare for ‘The Hunt’. As per tradition, The Hunt starts at 1pm. The Meadowers as we call ourselves believe we may as well sleep in. It’s the only chance we get.

We’re amongst the poorest families, and after my Dad had his accident we could no longer afford our old house. We now live on the edge of the Meadow land. It was a shock to the system to lose electricity, but I’ve grown used to it.

I pick up my pace as I spot my familiar running trail. It’s roughly a five mile route, crossing through the meadow and the woods. My Dad introduced me to running, I loved it instantly. I run our trail and pause at the creek, this is as far as you can go. Once you cross there’s nothing but boggy land for a couple of miles until you hit the perimeter wall. Of course, you wouldn’t get that far.

Once you cross the creek, motion sensors are activated and the pack will hunt you. This is the mistake my Dad made. He’d spotted a white rose growing across the creek and went to retrieve it for my Mother.

The pack were alerted to his ‘escape attempt’, his left leg was broken so severely that he never ran again. Even walking is a struggle for him now. Occasionally, I still wake up screaming when I dream of the ginger wolf crushing his leg between its powerful jaws.

I push my pace, enjoying the warmth that seeps through my muscles. This is a tad beyond my usual pace and it doesn’t take long to feel the lactic acid spreading. I’m practically sprinting, my breath is ragged and I don’t care one bit. My mind is churning a million possibilities of what today may hold. I push harder until I reach the dead tree in record time and pause to complete the stretches and kata that my Dad taught me. I haven’t sparred in so long, but the moves are familiar and make me feel strong. Dad has made me promise to teach Cait when he returns. Since his accident, he provides account services for the packs finances and spends a few weeks every quarter at the pack head office.

Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it’s now around 930am. I’ve spent longer on my kata than planned. I dust the dirt from my hands and begin my run back to my home, so that I can begin preparing for ‘The Hunt’.

Tonight, after ‘The Hunt’s’ selection process, everyone is supposed to celebrate. And a lot of people do, out of relief that their daughters have been spared until the next event. But there’s several families who will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful week or years to come. Some daughters return after a week if they are not successful in ‘The Hunt’, others are never seen or heard from again. Their parents are left wondering if they are alive or dead, happy or sad, safe or harmed. Tonight, my family may be one of the families that lock their doors and pull their curtains closed. Tonight, there may be a chance that I won’t be with them. Tonight will conclude my first entry into ‘The Hunt’s’ selection process.

I often wonder what would happen if us humans simply refused to reproduce. The wolves would no longer have young women to take, they would no longer have humans to serve them and they would no longer rule over humans.

Once back home, I find that my Mother and Cait are ready to go. “The Alpha has had a message delivered. Your Dad will meet us as the selection ground,” she tells me with half a smile. I know part of her is happy to see her Husband again, the other part is sad that the reason for his early finish from work is due to the fact that her daughter may not come home. “I warmed the water in the fire,” my Mother says softly. A tub of warm water waits for me. It’s a pleasant surprise after months of bathing in cold water, to preserve our wood supply in order for us to be able to warm the house in the winter. I eagerly scrub off the dirt and sweat from my run and even wash my hair.

To my utter surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft lilac thing with matching shoes. “Are.. are you sure?” I ask. This dress, this is something special. Her clothes from her family’s past are very precious to her. Back when the takeover occurred, her Great Grandma had saved a suitcase of fine clothes. This is from that suitcase.

“Of course. Let me do your hair up, too. Living here, I’ve been denied the privilege of helping you get ready like this,” she says. I let her towel-dry it and half braid it up on my head. She then wraps the rest of my hair around strips of fabric. I can hardly recognise myself in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall. There is a braided headband across the top of my head and soft curls cascade over my shoulders.

My hair frames a delicate face that I don’t recognise as my own. I look pretty. I frown at my reflection. They don’t deserve us to turn up looking like this, but I know it’d hurt my Mother’s feelings if I undo her hard work. It’s time. We head to the collection square and board a bus to attend the selection event.

People file in silently and sign in by placing their finger on the fingerprint reader. ‘The Hunt’ is a good opportunity for the wolves to keep tabs on the population as well. 18-25 year olds are herded into chained areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones, like me, towards the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly onto one another’s hands. But there are others, too, who have no one they love at stake, or who no longer care, who slip among the crowd, taking bets on the twenty girls whose names will be drawn. Odds are given on their ages because the new laws dictate that they must attend.

The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic, as more people arrive. The space is quite large, but not enough to hold the entire human population of the wolf land. There are five selection locations around the region. All set up just like this. I find myself standing in a clump of 18 year olds from the meadows. We all exchange terse nods, then focus our attention on the temporary stage that is set up before the tree line. It holds twenty chairs, a podium, a silver sphere that I know contains slips of paper with our names written on, and a microphone. I stare at the silver sphere. Due to the amount we’ve borrowed this year, there are 12 slips with Erin Anderson written on them.

Every two years, the wolves hold this event. Why? We don’t know. They take 20 daughters, there’s usually at least two who never return – this is the wolves way of reminding us how completely at their mercy we are. How little a chance we would stand of surviving a rebellion. Whatever words they use, the real message is clear. “Look how we take your daughters and use them as we please and there’s nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will break you, just as we did in the beginning.”

“SILENCE,” a voice barks out. The entire crowd becomes motionless and soundless.

It’s Beta Daniel.

“Let’s get on with it. Twenty names will be called. If your name is called you will come and take a seat on the stage. Once all twenty seats are taken, the rest of you will leave. The chosen will then come with us to participate in ‘The Hunt’.”

Does that mean I won’t get to say goodbye?

“Ashley Goodwin.”

There’s a shrieked ‘nooo’ I’m guessing, from her Mother.

“Jemma Duncan.”

“Alicia Jones.”

With each name that is called out, I breathe a sigh of relief and thank my lucky stars that it’s not me. With each name that is called, a tear falls from my eyes when I hear their family sob.

“And last but not least, Ellie Scholes.”

“NOOO. I CAN’T DO THIS AGAIN!!” Ellie shrieks and tries to run from the crowd.

A large man chases her down and drags her to the stage kicking and screaming. He stands her on the stage and leaves to resume his position.

“ENOUGH,” Beta Daniel barks as the back of his hand strikes her face and she falls to the wooden floor unconscious.

We solemnly file from the grounds, back to the bus to go home. We’ll be back in two years.